Chapter 7 - The Criminal Mind
Sherlock Holmes made a study of the criminal mind. He cared little to
understand or even properly interact with people possessing normal ethical
values and reasoning abilities. He was impatient with mediocrity and bored with
the commonplace. Holmes disliked routine life and despised a regulated
destiny. He had little use for self-imposed rules and only followed the laws of
England when they were logical and fair. There were several cases, dealing in
matters not well covered by conventional law, in which Holmes superseded the
courts and let fate be a higher judge.
After Holmes and Watson made the long journey back to Baker Street, they
freshened up and put on dry clothes. It was a cool evening so they started a
fire before having dinner. Although the hour was getting late, Mrs. Hudson was
kind enough to bring them a hot plate of sliced beef and a steaming kettle of
potato soup. After spending most of the day in the cold swamp, the hot meal was
bone warming.
Just as Holmes and Watson were pushing themselves away from the table, Inspector
MacDonald and Chief Inspector Hinkerson knocked on the door. The knock was
apparently just a formality as Hinkerson opened the door and the two men let
themselves in.
"Eating like kings I see," quipped MacDonald.
"Kings do not entertain London Police while they dine," replied Holmes with a
smile.
"Merely court jesters I would say," snorted Hinkerson.
Hinkerson was an aggressive man who despised Holmes and constantly attacked his
unorthodox methods. The Chief Inspector was a veteran officer and demanded
respect from everyone although he never received any from Sherlock Holmes.
"Pray, to what do we owe your uninvited company?" inquired Holmes. Ignoring the
Chief Inspector's insults, Holmes reached for his after-dinner pipe.
"You know very well that we are here about the Dartmoor business," replied
Hinkerson. "MacDonald tells me you have stuck your nose in the matter. I am
here to tell you not to try any of your wild theatrics. The case is closed. I
have already notified the newspapers."
"Closed you say. Very interesting Inspector."
"The post-mortem confirmed ye'r theory Holmes," added MacDonald. "The doctor
died of acute poisoning."
Hinkerson paced about the room with his arms folded before turning to Holmes.
"After reading Inspector MacDonald's report I decided to interrogate Miss Hart
myself," stated the chief inspector. "We spent half the day talking to her. I
believe she is innocent. Since there were no signs of foul play at the house or
any other people involved, I have decided to rule this case a suicide."
Holmes' mood quickly changed as he stood up, walked over to the fireplace and
knocked the ashes out of his pipe. He tried to ignore how good the warmth from
the fire felt on his legs.
"Dr. Collins was murdered, gentlemen. And I can assure you it was not committed
by Miss Hart."
"Then who killed him?" asked MacDonald.
Holmes took the time to fill his pipe and light it while the two Scotland
Yarders waited impatiently. Holmes savored the moment.
"We're waiting Holmes. Who do you think killed Collins?" moaned Hinkerson.
"A man, five feet and nine or ten inches tall, weighing approximately 160
pounds, traveling through the moor on stilts. I can also tell you he has spent
much of his life in Australia and is an excellent shot with a blowgun. He is a
gifted chemist and is quite intelligent. The murderer is clean-shaven and wears
his hair longer than is customary. He dyed his hair black sometime ago for
reasons of disguise but it is now back to its normal color of reddish blond.
The man is in tremendous physical shape and was at one time quite wealthy. He
is probably connected with the entertainment business and may even be a circus
clown. He also has a woman accomplice. She is no more than five feet and three
inches tall, weighs about 110 pounds and has short red hair. Their footsteps
and hair are similar and therefore it is likely they are blood related...
brother and sister I imagine."
"That's wonderful Mr. Holmes," exclaimed MacDonald. "How do ye know all this?"
"I retraced his steps through the moor using stilts today. The murderer and his
accomplice worked from an area called Canton Marsh. The man started his trek
from a point of dry land about seventy yards south from the house. I found
their footmarks all over the ground and the walking sticks he used were hid in a
nearby pool of water. From Canton Marsh he traveled north through the swamp to
Collins's house. After loading a blowgun with a poison dart, he made a loud cry
to bring Collins to the window and then shot him. His assistant then screamed
every ten minutes to lead him back."
"That accounts for the cries which Miss Hart heard!" elated MacDonald.
Hinkerson stood up and clapped his hands together sarcastically.
"Bravo! Bravo!" mocked the Chief Inspector. "I knew you would hang yourself if
given enough rope Holmes." Then he chuckled, "I will inform all my men to keep
their eyes open for a blowgun bearing circus clown walking around London on
stilts. Let's go Alec."
Hinkerson headed for the door. Holmes ignored him, and walked over to
MacDonald.
"Mac, I need you to check the shipment registry at the Liverpool office for all
voyages from Australia for the past year. Write down the delivery addresses for
all the imported crates which may have contained or concealed snakes," requested
Holmes. "I know it is a sizable task but our murderous fiend must be using
fresh venom to achieve the potency we are witnessing. He has to be milking live
snakes. I suspect the adders were delivered by ship as registered cargo to
avoid a Customs inspection," explained Holmes.
Hinkerson stopped in his tracks and quickly turned around.
"Snakes! You want snakes? Go back and look in the swamp young man. Inspector
MacDonald is not going to do any leg work for the likes of you!" Then the chief
inspector looked down to the floor and shook his head.
"Clowns and snakes. I don't believe it."
Holmes picked up the blowgun from the chemical table and pointed it like a sword
at Hinkerson's face.
"Dr. Collins died of a highly toxic solution consisting primarily of the venom
from the Australian Death adder," defended Holmes with steady assurance.
"I have heard enough from you," spoke the Chief Inspector as he pushed aside the
bamboo stick. Then he turned and walked out of the room. Inspector MacDonald
grabbed his hat and walked over to the door. He stopped and turned to Holmes.
"Shipments from the past year," winked the lanky Scotsman as he turned and
walked out of the room.
Watson looked at Holmes.
"Hinkerson is not very fond of you."
"It's unfortunate. At least friend MacDonald is still playing along. That list
might be our only way of finding this man."
"It doesn't seem likely."
"It's not. By the way, I want to visit Professor Arthur Bell in Norwood
to-morrow. According to Miss Hart's testimony, Professor Bell was a colleague
of Dr. Collins. Fate is a strange fellow Watson. It happens that Professor
Bell is an old friend of mine. He was my anatomy instructor in college and we
worked closely together on some of my more civilized experiments."
Holmes set down his pipe, walked across the room and opened his violin case.
"You should meet him Watson."
"I would love to Holmes. I have no other plans for the day."
"Good. For now, let us enjoy the rest of the evening and put all the snakes to
sleep." Holmes picked up his violin, tightened the bow and started to play.
Watson sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Sometimes it was so sweet.
Deep inside London's unpretentious out-skirts of Blackwell, the snakes at
Brixton Avenue were indeed put to sleep. When the thick, pungent smoke from the
chemical wick first entered the large basket the deadly vipers went wild. They
thrashed about and struck blindly at the inner walls of the basket in a confused
panic. After a minute the strikes slowed to staggered lunges as the snakes
flopped around like dazed drunkards. After another minute they could no longer
hold up their heads.
The door to the study opened and a woman entered carrying a hot tray covered
with a white towel. She set the tray on the table next to the snake basket and
removed the towel to expose a steaming glass vial. The smoke from the chemical
wick was unbearable so the woman walked over to the window and opened it.
"How can you tolerate this stench?"
"It's not so bad," smiled her brother as he lifted the burning wick from the
basket. He set the glowing cloth in a bucket of water, which made a brief
hissing sound.
"According to the newspaper, the police have closed the Collins case. You were
right. The moor covered our tracks."
"Not quite Sandra. Our stooge reported in a few minutes ago. That busy-body
Holmes found my stilts."
"Then we are done?" asked the woman.
"Hardly. Holmes is still in the dark. As long as we have Bennet as our eyes
and ears we will stay one step ahead of Holmes."
"I don't like it Charlie. Will Bennet follow your orders?
"He'll do anything for money. The bloke wants to secure his lady friend."
The man put on a pair of surgical gloves, reached into the basket, and gently
lifted out one of the fat snakes.
"She's bleeding him dry, God bless her greedy English soul," he continued saying
as he propped open the snake's mouth with a small pair of rib spreaders. The
woman removed the lid from the sterile dish and set it in front of him on the
table.
"Does he know how to keep his mouth shut?" she asked.
"He better," replied her brother as he stretched out the snake's fangs into the
vial and began to gently squeeze.
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